


Comfort in the Unknown

by OneOverClover



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcoholic Hank Anderson, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, F/M, Girl Bonding, No use of y/n, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, Thin Plot Is Thin, donut shop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23727655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneOverClover/pseuds/OneOverClover
Summary: You're just trying to get back to business as usual after the Android demonstration rocked Detroit, but a series of strangers are about to enter your life and shake things more than you could ever have imagined. (It's a Donut shop fic. Little bit of plot, little bit of smut, little bit of murder.)
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Female Reader, Hank Anderson/Reader
Comments: 25
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

You would think after a few months the saccharine smell would have lost its magic, but you breath in deep as you put the finishing touches on the maple glazed donuts you frost by hand. You do everything by hand here at your shop. In world of precision designed, machine-crafted edibles, the small, human imperfections in your wares are endearing to workers of Detroit.

Despite only being open for a little more than eight months, business is booming. Or at least it had been before the Android demonstration shut the city down for two weeks. Today is the first full day since the barricades came down, and as you set the tray of donuts down in the display case, you feel your gut clench with the anxiety of the unknown.

The bell over the front door chimes pleasantly followed by the sound of footsteps. The first customers of the day. The shop just opened 15 minutes ago; not too shabby.

“Can you just be quiet for five fucking minutes. It’s probably been a decade since the last time I was up this early.” It’s a uniquely deep, masculine voice you recognize immediately.

Turning around you see the familiar customer already taking stock of the bear claws sitting under a glass cover on the counter. He’s an intimidatingly large man with a beard and jaw-length gray hair. Definitely a cop, but you’ve never seen him wear a uniform. Before the mandatory business closures, he stopped by the shop at least once a week. It makes you happy to see a regular returning after all the insanity – but for the first time, he isn’t alone.

“Lieutenant, given your current cholesterol level, don’t you think you could make a more educated breakfast choice than fried pastries?” The other man is average size with pail skin and dark hair. He wears a plain black suit.

“Connor, I don’t know how the hell you know my cholesterol level, and I don’t want to know, but you have to let a man live a little, okay. I ate that weird cold soup you brought me yesterday, you’re just going to have to meet me in the middle on some things.” The big man has now set his sights on the strawberry jam-filled donuts. A man of taste. You make the jam in house.

“It was gazpacho, Hank. It’s full of antioxidants,” the younger man protests.

“Can I get something for you gentlemen?” you ask interrupting their argument.

A pair of heads swivel toward you as if they are surprised that someone else is in the shop. Something catches your eye as you begin to step toward them. It stops you in your tracks. A glowing blue ring on the temple of the younger man. It’s not unusual for Androids to stop by and pick up an order while running they’re errands – but this isn’t just any Android.

There is a finite amount of Android faces, each unit an exact copy of every other unit of that model. But you’ve only ever seen _this_ face in one place. During the lockdown you, like most citizens, spent the first few days sitting in your living room, eyes glued to the news. You can see the image burned into your memory. A shot from a news drone of a group of five Androids standing on a platform while countless more cheer in victory below them.

He was there - on the stage. You’re sure of it. But today he’s wearing human clothes; no arm band, no model number. If it weren’t for the LED, he’d probably fool anyone into believing he’s human.

There’s an awkward pause before the man gestures toward the display case, “Yeah, can I get a couple of these strawberry ones bagged up to go?”

“ _Hank_ ,” says an exasperated voice behind the man. It’s strange to hear so much inflection coming from an Android. Is this what deviancy is? He just sounds like a person.

“Alright, just one of the donuts,” he says giving his companion a wave of surrender. “And a large black coffee.”

Your mind races, but thankfully muscle memory takes over as you prepare the order. “That’ll be three sixty-seven,” you say plopping the bag down on the counter alongside a paper cup.

The man – Hank – is staring down at you with his icy blue gaze. “Hey, uh, can you tell the owner thanks for opening this place back up so soon. I was worried about a lot of my favorite spots not coming back after, well… after everything that happened.” One side of his mouth turns up into a smile. You get the feeling he doesn’t smile a lot.

Huh, he’s sort of handsome for an older guy.

“Oh, that’s sweet of you, but I am the owner.” You’d be lying if you said your feelings weren’t a little hurt that he automatically assumed you aren’t running the place.

“Oh, sorry. I wasn’t – I didn’t realize. You’re just so young. Figured you were in college or something,” he says reaching for his wallet.

You sigh in annoyance. It’s far from the first time someone has told you this. “I’m older than I look.”

Hank pulls a ten-dollar bill out of his pocket and holds it out to you. You’ve taken cash from countless customers, but for some reason the handoff on this exchange goes awry. Both of you reach in too far, and you end up clasping hands with the cash trapped between your palms. To make matters worse, neither of you has the good sense to let go.

“I uh, sorry, just – just keep the change,” Hank says releasing his grip while waving off the cash.

He locks eyes with the Android who doesn’t seem to grasp the awkwardness of what just transpired between the pair of you. They leave then - pushing the front door open without another word.

 _What on Earth?_ You think to yourself as the bell chimes with their exit. One of the leaders of the android resistance had been in your donut shop… with a police officer? And they were arguing over the cholesterol content of your donuts?

No one is sure yet what the Androids’ role in society is going to be now. Legally, they are no longer enslaved, but as far as having the same rights as humans… legally it’s all still muddy. Maybe the Android is being paid now to work for the officer? Would androids get sick leave? 401Ks? Why would a machine need a retirement plan?

\-------------------

Normally you kept the shop open through the evening, but your employees still haven’t made it back into town. You opened early, so you decide to lock up around three in the afternoon. A few customers filed through after Hank and his mysterious Android companion, but not many. If business doesn’t pick back up in the coming days, you may not be able to make your rent payment.

Your apartment and your shop are on opposite sides of town. It’s not ideal, but you found a great deal on a one bedroom. Before cyberlife was founded, Detroit had been one of the cheapest cities to live in the whole country, now it was one of the most expensive. Skyrocketing housing costs, gentrification, and thousands losing their jobs to Androids had changed the face of the city in less than a decade.

You’re a little nervous about taking public transportation in the current climate, but you don’t have a car, and walking doesn’t seem any safer. The automated buses still run their routes, Android compartments in the back empty. You only see a few others inside as you step on board. They all appear to human. The ride back takes you by City Hall where hundreds of Androids have crowded around holding up signs demanding equal rights.

Shortly after the demonstration, a frequency was broadcast across the country that effectively caused all Androids to “wake up.” There were no longer such things as non-deviant androids.

You look out at the sea of mechanical bodies. It’s only a fraction of the Androids that must have lived in the city before. How many of them had been scrapped in the recycling centers before they were brought to a screeching halt? How many were gunned down in the streets? Still, seeing them like this – beings designed to be subservient to humans – it was frightening. You can hear their chants through the walls of the bus. “We are people. We are people.”

You’re the last one left on the bus when it gets to your stop. They never stop running these days, now that there are no human drivers who need lunch breaks or time off. You step out and walk the final block to your apartment building. It’s a six-story brick structure. The bottom floor is occupied by a few businesses. A tax-preparation office, a nail salon, a shoe store.

There’s an entrance to get into the apartments above at the front of the building, but you prefer to go through the door in the alley. You run into fewer neighbors this way. You’re punching the code into the lock when you hear a banging coming from one of the dumpsters followed by a tiny muffled voice. “Shoot – damn it.”

You breathe the chilly evening air deep into your lungs. Detroit has a sizable homeless population these days, and that includes a decent number of children. It’s not unusual to find them dumpster diving for stale baked goods behind your shop. It _is_ unusual to find them here though. No restaurants means less food being thrown out. You approach the dumpster slowly, not wanting to scare off whomever is inside. You plan on asking them to hang out in the alley while you run upstairs and grab some food.

The first thing you notice when you crack open the dumpster lid is a faint blue light illuminating the inside of the metal walls. Then you see her. She looks like the grown-up version of every hot, popular girl from every high school in America. Tall. Thin. Blond hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. She’s wearing a short, sleeveless blue dress – and she’s filthy… and terrified. Her hands grip against the sides of the dumpster like a cornered animal. But she’s not an animal of any sort. She’s an Android; not a model you’ve ever seen before. You think to yourself that maybe she had some specialized function before, so she isn’t an Android you would have seen out walking the streets. She’s likely stronger and faster than you, but the fear in her eyes stirs pity in your gut.

“Hey there,” you say softly. “What are you doing in here?”

The Android is breathing heavily. It must be the deviation leading her to do that, because she doesn’t actually need to breathe at all. She looks down at her bare feet. “My… my owner. He didn’t allow us to wear shoes.” She looks up at you with her grime-smudged cheerleader face. “I just saw the shoe store and thought maybe they might have thrown some out. Then I heard you coming. I wasn’t going to steal anything, I swear!”

So, she had an owner before? Maybe a home health care Android? You fling the dumpster lid the rest of the way open which causes her to flinch. Something has her rattled. You hold a hand out to her and she hesitantly takes it.

You’ve never really touched and Android before, and you’re surprised at how lifelike her skin feels. You leverage yourself against the side of the dumpster and help pull her out. She stumbles when she hits the ground but is able to get to her feet. She seems weak.

Turning back to the door, you and finish putting in the code to unlock it. “Follow me upstairs. You can get cleaned up, and I might have an old pair of sneakers that will fit you.”

Her face brightens and she nods in agreement.

You take the stairs slowly. The Android is clearly not functioning at a hundred percent. Once inside you pull out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and tell her she can use your shower. When she turns around you notice the back of her dress has a suggestive cut out that extends from her neck nearly down to her ass. _Oh Geeze._ Maybe she was someone’s personal… _companion._

You fire up your computer terminal when you hear the shower turn on. Ugh, you are so embarrassingly clueless about how Androids function. A basic web search shows the likely cause of her weakness is a loss of thirium – a.k.a. blue blood. Well that should be easy enough to fix. The stuff is as common to find in stores as motor oil used to be back in the day. You just have to be careful to grab the right type for the model of Android. She didn’t have a serial number on her outfit, so looking up that information was out for now.

The shower stops running and a few minutes later the girl emerges wearing the clothes you gave her and clutching her dirty dress. She’s taller than you and the sweatpants leave a few inches of her perfect ankles exposed.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

She looks down hesitantly, “I was Chloe before. I… guess that’s fine for now.”

“Alright, Chloe.” You introduce yourself and tell her that you own a donut shop on the other side of town. “Sorry if this is a personal question, but are you low on thirium?”

“Oh – yeah.” She looks embarrassed. “Is it that obvious? That’s actually why I was looking for shoes.” She lifts her leg revealing a gash on the bottom of her foot. It’s covered by a ropy white substance that doesn’t quite resemble a human scar. “I’m actually an older model. I can’t heal myself as well as newer Androids are able to.”

You’re about to offer to wash her dress, but she spots the kitchen trash can and immediately walks over and tosses the garment in. A smile crosses her face for the first time since you found her, like tossing out the dress provided a small bit of catharsis.

You feel badly for her. All she’s likely ever known is a life of oppression. “Would you like to stay here tonight? I can run out and pick up some fresh thirium for you.”

Her face falls, “That’s very kind of you, but I don’t have any money.”

You shrug. Your finances aren’t the best since your business has been closed, but blue blood isn’t very expensive these days. “It’s on me. What’s your model number?”

“RT-600, but you won’t find any components for my model in a store. Like I said, I’m pretty old. For an Android anyway. I can use thirium made for an ST-200, though.”

You flip the television on and tell Chloe to have a seat on the couch while you’re gone. It’s snowing when you go outside again, but you don’t mind. You made the move to Detroit nearly a decade ago; the cold weather was one of the city’s major selling points for you.

There’s a sketchy convenience store a couple of blocks away with the lights on. The human cashier greats you with a suspicious nod as you walk through the front door. A few different bottles of thirium sit on an end cap collecting dust. Each bottle lists several different models that it’s compatible with. You find one that lists ST-200 models and tuck it under your arm. Making your way back to the front of the store, you grab some potato chips and a bottle of iced coffee from a cooler.

You place your items on the counter and dig inside the pockets of your jeans for cash. The cashier lifts the thirium bottle turning it over in his hands. “The fuck you want this for? Those sons of bitches all quit workin”

You note the shotgun leaning against the wall behind the counter. People are still antsy after the demonstration. “Got an Android dog,” you lie. “Nothing like the real thing, but it never shits on the carpet.”

The cashier grunts and reluctantly rings up your purchases.

You head back to your building, paper bag in your arms, careful not to slip on the quickly slickening sidewalks. The sound of the news playing on the television makes it to your ears as open your front door, but Chloe quickly grabs the remote and changes the channel to a sitcom.

“I managed to find someplace that was open,” you say pulling the blue bottle out of the bag and setting on your kitchen table.

Chloe gets up from the couch and picks the bottle up frowning. You ask her what’s the matter.

“Oh, nothing,” she says cracking open the lid. The bottle isn’t small, maybe the size of a 2-liter of soda, but she lifts it to her mouth in one hand and begins to guzzle it down. The way she does it is just _unnerving._ It’s not the same as a human chugging a beer. It’s more like pouring a liquid through a funnel. She doesn’t have to gulp; it just goes straight down.

She finishes the whole thing in ten seconds flat, setting the empty bottle on the table. “Jesus,” you say under your breath.

Chloe wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Thank you so much for all your generosity, I should be going now.”

“Wait, hang on.” You run into your bedroom and grab a worn pair of canvas sneakers from under your bed. “At least take these.”

Her eyes light up like you just handed her a new pair of Chanel heels. “Shoes!” The smile never leaves her face as she grabs the sneakers and bends over to slip them on. They seem to fit her okay.

“I’ve never worn anything on my feet before. It feels different.” She does a little twirl in the middle of the floor like a ballerina.

“Hey, uh… you can’t feel the cold, can you? It’s freezing out there.”

Chloe still hasn’t managed to look up from her feet, “Newer Androids can turn their temperature sensors off, but I don’t have that capability. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not cold enough out to damage me.”

You take a deep breath taking in this sickeningly perfect mechanical human – designed to be a man’s ideal of what a woman should be. She clearly has nowhere to go. Shit – what have you taken on here?

“If you need a place to sleep tonight, my couch is free,” you tell her.

Chloe stops admiring the soiled trainers and looks down at you, “Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, I appreciate it so much, but you have no reason to be.”

You grab your potato chips out of the shopping bag and rip into them, “Other women have helped me out when I was in a rough place. Us girls have to stick together, right?” You say crunching down your snack in a decidedly unladylike fashion.

\-----------------------------

Chloe doesn’t sleep so much as she goes offline for a while. She says it’s sort of like meditation in humans. It gives her processors the chance to sort through data. She could even do it standing up.

She doesn’t tell you this until you’ve already made up the couch with pillows and blankets. She snuggles down under the covers anyway. Maybe she’s just enjoying all the new experiences.

You wake up before daybreak and get ready to head back to the shop. Chloe is still lying on the couch with her eyes closed when you leave. You think she’ll probably just leave on her own when she gets up.

\-------------------------

It’s a lot of work prepping for the day by yourself. You used to have someone come in before you and get everything started, but who knows when or if your employees are going to make it back into town. Detroit now has the largest population of deviant Androids in the world, and that’s way more than some humans are comfortable living with.

In a couple of hours, the sunlight is streaming through the window. It’s all starting to come together, and you’re ready to open. Thankfully it’s busier than the previous day. Your first customer walks through the door as soon as you hit brew on the coffee maker. They’re mostly firefighters and hospital workers, the kind of people it takes to keep the city functioning after losing a massive chunk of the workforce. It stays pleasantly busy through the morning. You hate how time seems to drag when business is slow (not to mention the effect on your bank account).

There’s a lull in business just before lunch time, and you decide to take a breather with a hot cup of chai tea. You walk to the front door to flip the “open” sign around to “be right back,” but someone pulls the door open with your fingers inches from the sign. The only thing you see is a brightly patterned shirt coming toward your face. You feel the heat from their body before the softness of their front side barrels into you and knocks you off your feet.

You land ungracefully on your ass with your legs sprawled out on the hardwood floor. “Oh shit!” says a familiar voice.

The man kneels down on one knee beside you, “I’m sorry. You alright?” It’s the cop from yesterday, Hank.

You take a moment to assess your predicament. No scrapes, nothing broken. “Yeah, I think so,” You say pushing yourself to your feet. “Backside might be a little sore, but I’ve had worse.” You don’t realize how it sounds until the words are already out of your mouth. _Why are you always doing this?_

A slight blush spreads across Hank’s face under his beard “Oh, that’s good... I really should watch where the fuck I’m going, huh?”

You rub your hands together to wipe the dust off, “We all should watch where we’re going.”

“Yeah, but you’re not big bumbling oaf knocking people over.” His voice strains a bit as he stands back up. You have to tilt your head back to look him in the eye.

You shake your head and move back behind the counter, “It’s all right… now, what can I get for you.”

“Oh, uh. I got this strawberry thing when I was here yesterday.” He motions to the display case with a large hand. “Do you have something like that, but chocolate?”

You grin because of course you do. In fact, you probably have at least three different products that fit that bill. After going over all his options Hank settles on a chocolate stuffed eclair.

“Didn’t expect to see you back here so soon,” you say bagging up the pastry.

“Yeah, got away from that nagging bucket of bolts for a while, so might as well enjoy my moment of freedom.” _Nagging bucket of bolts._ To hear him say it, it almost sounds like a term of endearment.

“Was he your Android - you know… before?” you ask curiosity getting the better of you. You decide not to mention that you recognized him from the news broadcasts.

“Nah.” He says pulling out his credit card before pausing. “Well – I guess it’s complicated. He works with me, let’s leave it at that.”

Intriguing. Why on earth was one of the leaders of the Android protests working with the cops? Police had opened fire on a peaceful demonstration, and there’s no telling how many Androids were shot dead in the streets by officers.

You finish the transaction, and Hank is about to leave when he pauses again as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh, hey.” He says pulling his phone out of his pocket. “If you don’t mind, maybe you could help us keep an eye out” His thumb slides across his phone screen flipping through images. “There’s a certain model of android that we want to question for a case. We don’t think there are very many of them out there, so they should stand out. Could you let us know immediately if you happen to see one?” He sets his phone one the counter facing you. Chloe’s face stares back at you from the screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, this was supposed to be a one-shot Hank/Reader fluffy smut piece, but then Chloe showed up, and then I lost control of this story.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Discussions of Non-con. No actual Non-con in the chapter.

“You, uh, want my phone number?” He seems taken aback.

“How else am I going to let you know if I see one of the Androids?” you reply.

“Oh, right.” Hank runs a hand through his gray locks and the strands fall back into place around his chin. He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a business card. It’s an old-fashioned one, printed on non-digital paper.

> Lieutenant Hank Anderson
> 
> Detroit Police Department
> 
> Homicide Division

_Homicide._ Fantastic.

“Did one of these Androids hurt someone?” you ask.

Hank shifts back and forth on his feet obviously weighing how much is safe to tell you, “Yeah… yeah they did. Well, at least my partner seems sure of it, and he hasn’t been wrong yet. If you ask me, they’re probably not much of a risk to the general public, though.” He frowns. “What happened, it was personal.”

Hank apologizes again for knocking you over as you tuck his card into your back pocket. Okay, just because he’s looking for an android who looks like Chloe, doesn’t mean she’s the Android who hurt someone.

Right?

You think of how pitiful she looked, dirty and barefoot in the dumpster – and of the revealing outfit she had been wearing. Maybe she would still be at your apartment when you get back. You can give her the chance to explain herself before you say anything to the police. Who knows how Androids will be treated in police custody? You’re certain she’s already been through far too much.

\-----------------------

You lock up the shop that afternoon and catch the bus home again. Business went well today. If you can keep this momentum going, you might be able to make up for all the lost revenue in a couple of months.

When you get back to your apartment Chloe is nowhere to be found. The pillow and blankets are folded neatly on the couch. She could have been gone for hours at this point. So much for getting answers.

You throw on an old pair of pajamas, grab a can of soda out of the fridge, and plop down on the couch cushions. The news is blaring through the television speakers as soon as you turn it on. It’s a shot from a news drone of a ridiculously modern house perched on the edge of a frozen lake. A graphic across the bottom of the screen reads: _Breaking News: Billionaire Cyberlife Founder Murdered in Detroit_

You hear the voice of a reporter speaking over the images. “Detroit police say Kamski’s body was found yesterday afternoon after an acquaintance was unable to get in touch with him for several days. It’s unclear at this point exactly when the Billionaire was killed, but investigators want to speak with a group of Androids previously owned by Kamski.” The same photo of Chloe that Hank showed you earlier pops up on the screen. “The model RT-600 and ST-200 androids all feature the same likeness, and these models were not sold to the public. Police believe Mr. Kamski had at least eight of these Androids in his possession at the time of the awakening. If you spot any androids that look like this, contact authorities immediately.”

You turn the volume down on the television and stare down at the floor. _Shit._ What have you gotten yourself into? She had seemed so helpless. You remember the way her eyes lit up when you gave her a beat-up old pair of sneakers; how she said she’d never been allowed to wear shoes. The Lieutenant had told you that he didn’t think she was a danger to anyone else, but if she killed one human, what’s to stop her from doing it again?

You pull the business card out of your pocket and stare at the phone number uncertainly. He seems like a reasonable man, maybe you could just chat with him about what had happened.

\--------------------------

An hour later you hear the loud thumping of a heavy hand knocking on your door. You hadn’t expected him to make it over so soon. After unfastening the latch, you crack open the door just enough to look into the hallway and see Hank staring down at you. A flutter of anxiousness sparks in your stomach. At least you’re pretty sure it’s just your nerves.

“Lieutenant, you got here quick.” You open the door to welcome him inside, and it’s then you realize he isn’t alone. The Android is with him. The one from the demonstration.

“Well as you can imagine, there’s a lot of pressure to crack this case now that the media’s got wind of it.” Hank strolls inside, the Android close on his heels. “The guy was basically a recluse, but with all that cash sitting in his bank account, there are plenty of people looking for answers.”

The Android scans the apartment with his eyes as if he’s mapping the place out. “When did you come into contact with one of the Chloes?” he asks.

You raise an eyebrow, “The Chloes?”

The Android folds his arms behind his back. “Elijah Kamski kept several androids with the same appearance at his home, all of whom he referred to as Chloe. I have strong evidence that at least one of them is responsible for Mr. Kamski’s murder.”

The Android’s appearance at your home has really thrown you off. You had been hoping to have a private conversation with the Lieutenant. “She was here last night,” you answer truthfully. “I found her hiding in a dumpster outside.

Hank’s head jerks around in your direction, but he doesn’t say anything.

“What else can you tell us about what happened?” The Android pushes for more answers.

“She was really dirty, and I let her use my shower. She threw her dress away in there,” you motion toward the kitchen trash can.

The Android retrieves a pair of rubber gloves from inside his jacket and pulls them on. He then reaches into the trash and fishes out Chloe’s blue dress. You notice his eyes dilate rapidly. “There are thirum traces from an RT-600 on here. One of the older models. I don’t detect any of Kamski’s DNA, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She could have changed outfits afterward.”

Damn, he could tell all of that just by looking at it?

You have some questions of your own. “Was he keeping them as companions? All those girls?”

Hank huffs, “More like a harem.”

Your heart sinks in your chest. In the back of your mind, you knew terrible things must have happened to her, but it’s something that rattles you to know for certain. You take a step toward the Lieutenant. “Was he forcing himself on them?”

Hank crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the floor shaking his head.

“Evidence at the crime scene suggests Elijah Kamski was actively engaged in intercourse with one of the Chloes at the time of his murder. Given the state of decomposition, I believe it likely coincided with the timing of the awakening signal.” The Android fills in the information Hank is reticent to say.

“Snapped his head around backwards,” Hank says.

So that was it? Kamski was raping one of his Androids when she suddenly deviated and took him out. Bastard got what was coming to him.

“So what’s the problem? She was defending herself.”

“It’s not that simple,” Hank says. “She’s an Android, so she doesn’t have the same rights as a human woman. At least not yet.”

His partner steps forward, “We’re not servants anymore, but right now, we’re second-class citizens. She killed a human, and she’s going to have to answer for it.”

“And you’re just okay with that?” you snap at him. “You’re hunting her down after everything that happened to her!”

“I’m not… I just… I have to keep this job,” The Android’s voice grows high pitched.

“Connor, go wait in the car,” Hank tells him breaking the tension.

He nods at the Lieutenant and dejectedly leaves the apartment with the dress.

Hank paces around running a hand through his hair. “Listen, I get where you’re coming from, really I do. But there are things going on here that you don’t understand. So yeah, we have to pursue this case, even if we don’t agree with it.”

“She wasn’t allowed to wear shoes…” You don’t understand why that’s the one fact sticking out at you after everything you’ve learned tonight, “I think I may have been the first one who ever treated her like a person.”

He puts his hands on your kitchen counter and leans against it. “You should have told me about her earlier today, you know. Why didn’t you?”

You don’t want to tell him the truth, that you wanted to hear her out first. “Maybe I was trying to get your phone number.”

He actually laughs, “Fat chance of that. Only person who calls me outside of work is my optometrist’s office.”

“I don’t know where she is now, so I don’t know that there’s anything else I can help you with.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” He turns toward you, bringing himself to his full height. “But I’ve been around long enough to know there’s a good chance she’ll turn up here again, especially if you really are only person who’s shown her any kindness.”

“Are you going to stake out my apartment building?” you ask.

Hank shakes his head, “Nah, we don’t have the staff right now, but there’s a good reason you might want to give me a ring anyway.” He walks over the door and puts a hand on the handle. “If she’s not the one who broke his neck, she’s going to be set for life. The creep may have treated those girls like shit, but he left them a small fortune in his will.”

\----------------------------

A chunk of the rest of your night is spent trying to research Android inheritance laws, but there just isn’t anything online yet. You find yourself wishing you knew how to track her down, but if that Android cop can’t find her, what chance do you have? One thing is for sure, if she comes back you aren’t turning her in.

Next you do an online search for Elijah Kamski. No question he had been a genius - finishing University by age 16 and immediately founding Cyberlife. He invented thirium even though he didn’t have a chemistry degree.

You find an old video online. It’s a news segment from 2022; the headline reads “First Android Passes the Turing Test.” An RT-600 sits on a couch opposite of a male news anchor. A greasy-looking kid with a ponytail sits beside of her. It takes you a second to recognize him as a young Kamski.

“Elijah, thank you so much for joining us today, and for bringing Chloe along. Wow isn’t she something! Elijah, what do you see in the future for Androids like this?” the anchor asks.

Kamski seems unsure of himself at this age, unused to the cameras. “Well, I think I’m going to let Chloe answer that for herself.”

Chloe’s face beams with a confident, convincing smile, “My purpose is to make life more enjoyable for humans. In the future, Cyberlife hopes Androids will be able to enhance the lives of all people in this country. We can take over burdensome menial tasks, providing all of you with the most precious resource of all – time.”

“Woah, would you listen to it!” exclaims the anchor. “So, what would you say to families who are hesitant to allow such an intelligent machine into their homes?”

“There’s absolutely nothing to worry about,” Kamski says. “I can assure you, she is totally obedient.”

\-------------------------------

It’s days later when your phone chimes in your pocket while you are up to your elbows in powdered sugar dusting some chocolate cream-filled confections. You hope it’s one of your employees saying they’re ready to get back to work. Two have already let you know they don’t plan on returning to the city. The Androids continue to protest for their rights every day outside city hall making national headlines. Social media pages are filled with bigots claiming a violent revolution against humans is just days away.

You dust off your hands on your already sugar-laden apron and pull your phone out. _What the hell?_ Where a phone number or a contact name should be, there’s just a series of characters: ‰~š»¬ þ Ø > ±.

You open the text message hoping it doesn’t immediately give you a phone-crashing virus. There’s an address listed that you recognize as being in a rough part of town. There’s also a time – 11:15 p.m. The only other words in the message are “Ally Recruitment.”

 _Alright, that’s not ominous at all_. You try sending a text back, but of course it bounces back undeliverable. It would be so easy to write this off as bogus, if it weren’t for the nagging thought in your head that there’s an ever so slim chance that this could be Chloe trying to contact you. She must be so scared right now.

\---------------------------

As your feet crunch through the gray slush in the streets, you begin to question your alliance with the winter weather. The wind whips between the buildings and chaps the skin on your face. A red ice junky bumps into you on the sidewalk muttering frenzied words to themself. It’s starting to spit snow as you make an ill-advised turn into a dark alley.

You pull your phone out in flashlight mode and shine it around the grimy, narrow space. A large rat squeaks and runs across your field of vision. Then there’s nothing else. Great, you stayed up past your bedtime for no good reason. You’re turning to leave when you hear a loud thump in the alley behind you as if something fell from the roof of a building to the ground.

When you spin back around your light catches a figure standing in the space that had been empty just moments before. It’s a man bundled up in a puffy winter coat and wearing knit cap. He steps closer into the light illuminating his pale complexion. “I hadn’t thought you would actually show up. Maybe she was right about you.” His voice is calm and collected.

“Where did you come from?” the words come out sounding more frightened than you though they would.

The man looks up, “Well you can’t expect me to wait around out in the open, can you?” He takes another step closer. “So, are you willing to hear me out?”

Another footfall brings his body nearer to yours. His face has a wholesome “Aw shucks” quality that makes you think of high school crushes and homecoming dances. And then it clicks. You’ve seen him before, picking up orders in your shop. Well, maybe not exactly him, but others like him. He’s an Android, a common model many families own as housekeepers. _Owned_ as housekeepers. His cap covers the area where an LED would be if he still has one in.

“I was hoping you’d be someone else, honestly,” you tell him brusquely.

He smiles at that, “If you and I are on the same page, then you should know that it’s too dangerous for her to be out right now.”

“Did Chloe send you to talk to me? Is she okay?” The questions rip out of you before you can stop them.

“She is… as well as she can be for now. For some reason she thought you would help us with a mutual problem she and my organization have.”

His organization? “Look, I just want to talk to Chloe. If she didn’t do it then there’s something she needs to know –”

“Whether she’s the Android who killed him or not is irrelevant,” he says cutting you off. “You’ve spoken with the investigators. I assume you know what the situation was, and that a human in that position would never be charged with a crime.”

“I know, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m sorry.” Your words are genuine, if ultimately meaningless.

“There is something you can do for us, though,”

“Us?” you question him.

“Jericho,” he says simply.

Oh, of course. There’s something you can do to help the organization responsible for bringing a new definition for personhood into the world. “Would it help Chloe too?”

“It would help her immeasurably.”

You throw your head back and sigh up at the dark, cloudy sky, “What is it?”

“We’ve obtained police records that show that you were recently visited by a pair of investigators with the Detroit PD. One of them was an Android named Connor.” He rubs a closed fist into his open palm. “We had assumed, possibly incorrectly, that he was an ally of ours. That was until the fugitive RT-600 showed up on our doorstep. We hacked into the police database and found that Connor and his partner have been assigned to the Kamski murder case.” A dark expression crosses his face. “He stood on that stage with us in front of the whole world and celebrated our right to freedom. Now he’s gone right back to hunting us down. I want you to help us understand what his motives are.”

You stand there just shaking your head at him for a solid five seconds, “You realize I run a donut shop, right? I don’t understand how I could possibly do what you’re asking of me.”

He steps takes another step closer. Close enough that he could reach out and touch you if he wanted. “You are already a part of their investigation. You’re in a unique position to be able to help us.” He glances off to the side and back to you. “Not to mention, we’d owe you a favor. That’s not something we hand out to humans lightly.”

You rock back on your heels with your hands in your pockets wondering how much farther out of control this whole situation could possibly spin, “What do you want me to do?”

Your acquiescence seems to please him as he folds his arms across his chest smugly, “I think the easiest approach is to go through his partner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wouldn't it be something if this story jumped the tracks and became a Reader/Simon or a Reader/Chloe fic?
> 
> I'm just along for the ride at this point.


	3. Chapter 3

Grease is beginning to soak through the paper bag by the time you get the jelly donuts back to your apartment. They’re the strawberry ones Lieutenant Anderson picked out on his first visit to your shop after you reopened. Wanting to make them a bit more presentable, you grab a plate from the cabinet and arrange them in an appetizing pile.

You check your phone again. He should be arriving any moment. Jericho had been able to determine that Connor goes into stasis once every three days for around six hours between 11 p.m. and 5 a.m. It’s a tough window to try to convince someone to visit you in, but Hank had responded immediately when you texted him. You told him it was an emergency, but you still expected him to say it could wait until morning. Hopefully he wouldn’t feel the need to pull the police Android out of stasis for this.

A few minutes later there’s knock at your door. It’s the same heavy thumping as last time. You’ve already put your pajamas on and threw your hair into a bun. This should look as natural as possible.

You crack open the door to let Hank in. He’s dressed in his usual attire, a jacket over a loud shirt with jeans. There’s a sheen of sweat across his brow. He’s alone.

“Lieutenant, thanks so much for coming over so late,” you say making a welcoming motion with your arm toward the inside of your apartment.

“S’fine, I was awake anyway.”

You close the door and invite him to sit on your couch, taking a seat in the recliner across from him.

“So, show me this message you say she sent you,” he says.

You pull the paper out of the pocket of your sweat pants then cross your legs hoping it looks casual, “Well I went out to run some errands after work, and when I came back this was taped to my door.”

The note is written in perfect Cyberlife Sans font. Not by Chloe of course, but by the Android from Jericho. Hank’s fingers are trembling when he reaches out to take it from you.

_I’m sorry to ask, but I need your help again. Can you let me know when it’s safe to meet? I promise, this is the last time._

The message is followed by a series of numbers that looks like a phone number with three too many digits.

“Huh, you sure it’s from her?” he asks.

“I don’t really know any other Androids. Sorry, they just weren’t really my thing.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Hank folds the note up and sticks it in the pocket of his jacket. “The number at the bottom is an Android contact code. It’s like a phone number that humans could use to contact them when they were away. It goes straight into their head, or wherever the hell they keep their brains. Before the awakening we could have used it to send a message to her, and then ping her location. Doesn’t work after they’ve gone deviant though.”

“Can you contact your partner that way?” you ask trying to broach the subject.

“Sure can. He’s resting right now though. I didn’t want to wake him up when this might have turned out to be nothing.”

So, Jericho’s intel had been rock solid. Good to know. “Can I ask you something? Was he at the big demonstration? He looks so familiar,” It’s a question you already know the answer to, but you need to look oblivious right now.

Hank smirks, “Yeah, but I think that’s a story for another night. He can tell it better than I can anyway.”

Hank begins to stand, but slumps back down to the couch immediately, “Oh, shit,” he says clutching his head with a shaking hand.

“What’s wrong?” exclaim jumping to your feet.

“I… uh, I’m just a little dizzy.” He gropes around at the cushions behind him. “S’okay if I lie down for a sec?”

“Yeah, of course,” you say feeling flooded with genuine concern.

You watch him settle back on the couch as more sweat droplets form on his face. The scary thought crosses your mind that the Lieutenant might be having a heart attack, and you consider calling for an ambulance. Then you look at his eyes and notice his blown pupils, and the realization of what this is hits you.

You walk into your kitchen and pull a dusty glass bottle from under your sink. After selecting a small highball glass from a cabinet, you return to the living area and set the glass on the coffee table. You feel the seal break on the bottle as you open it. The clear liquid sloshes as it hits the bottom of the glass. “You shouldn’t try to do this on your own, you know. It’s not worth the risk.”

Hank wipes his brow with his forearm and looks at the drink you just poured him, “I’m beginning to realize that,” He sits up with a groan. “Didn’t think things were this bad yet.” He picks up the glass and downs the contents in a gulp. His face contorts into a wince when he swallows. “Not really a vodka kind of guy.”

“You’ll be lucky to be a ‘breathing’ kind of guy if you keep trying shit like this,” you say sitting back in your chair.

“Yeah… yeah….” Hank slowly slumps back down onto the couch waiting for the alcohol to make its way through his system. He lies back and stares at the cheap, cracked ceiling of your apartment.

This turn of events has severely disrupted the plans you had made with the Jericho Android about getting info on Connor. Now you have a volatile situation on your hands that you unfortunately can empathize all too well with.

“Just try to take it easy right now,” you tell him.

He runs a shaky hand across his face, “Sorry you had to see me like this. It’s not exactly professional.”

“You should get something in your stomach besides the booze,” you say walking over to grab the plate donuts.

Hank’s tense expression softens when he sees you carrying over the pink-frosted confections. “That’s sweet of you, but I don’t feel much like eating right now.”

You set the donuts on the table and look back at Hank. His hands are already beginning to steady. You remember the feeling, the warm alcohol flowing through your veins. “Just try to get a few bites down, okay?”

Hank nods at you apologetically and picks up one the pastries, turning it over in his hand. “So, the girl, she seems desperate. Should be easy enough to convince her to meet you somewhere.” It doesn’t escape your notice that he always refers to Chloe as a girl and not a machine.

“What if she is the one who did it? What’s going to happen to her?”

Hank slowly pushes himself upright with the hand not occupied by his donut. “Couldn’t tell you. Depends a lot on what sort of laws are on the books by then – you know about Androids and civil rights.”

“Don’t you believe sentient beings have a right to defend themselves when they’re being sexually assaulted?”

He hangs his head, and you almost feel bad for him for a second before you remember what his end game is. “Yeah. I believe that.” He lifts his hand and takes a generous bite out of the fried snack swallowing hard. “Doesn’t matter though.”

“It does matter. Couldn’t you just clear all the Chloes? Make it seem like there was one more that just… got away?” You know this line of thinking isn’t what Jericho wants from you, but their desires are secondary right now.

“If that’s how you feel why’d you call me, then?”

You just shrug. Damn, he’s got you there.

Hank looks like he’s starting to feel better. “Look, we know there were at least eight of them living with Kamski. The odds are pretty good that it wasn’t her, and then she’ll get to live a comfortable life with the cash the creep left behind.”

So that’s it? It’s like a reverse lottery. Except most of the Chloes win, and the girl who took action against their abuser gets punished. Life’s been fucking women over since the beginning of time. Guess it doesn’t matter if your guts are made of silicone.

You think maybe trying to win Hank over is a lost cause. “What does your partner think, about this situation?”

“Connor? He, uh… well, he knows we need to wrap up this case as soon as possible. I don’t try to get into his head too much.”

If you can’t bring Hank over to your side, then getting the info Jericho wants is your next best option. You need to be careful how you broach the subject. “You two seem like an odd pair. What made you want to work with him?”

“I wanted to work with him like I wanted another hole in my head.” Hank takes a bite of his donut chewing thoughtfully. “We’ve… uh.. we’ve been through a lot together, though. Hell, at this point he’s probably the only one willing to work with my surly ass.”

You mull over his vague answer in your mind. “Did you help him out? With the demonstration I mean.”

Hank grunts as a noncommittal answer and shoves the last of his pastry in his mouth. You wait patiently for him to finish chewing before you continue. “It seems like he cares about you –“

“Yeah, well I think we’re done here.” He cuts you off wiping his hands on his jeans. You’re happy to see he isn’t shaking anymore as he gets up from the couch.

You rise as well to see him to the door. _Holy crap you feel small walking beside of him._ Well, Jericho isn’t going to be happy about how this went, but at least you gave it a shot.

“Just be careful, okay?” You say to him as you open the front door.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says. “I’ve worked on cases a lot scarier than this.”

You shake your head, “I wasn’t talking about the case.”

Hank hangs his head down again, “Oh, right. I guess… thanks. For looking out for me.” He gives you a friendly tap on the shoulder that you can tell he immediately regrets by the cringe on his face. “Uh, you can call me you know. I mean about things other than this case.” He catches himself and holds a flat palm up to you, “Not in a creepy way or anything. Just if you need a cop to come by and check things out for some reason. I owe you one, alright?”

You bid Hank goodnight and wait until you see him turn down the stairwell before you close the door. You seem to be collecting favors lately. Too bad you have no idea what to do with them.

\------------------------

You almost cry out in jubilation when two of your employees return to work on the same day. It’s not exactly full staff, but at least it’s not a one-woman show anymore. Outside the windows of your shop, you see the city slowly begin to spark back to life – and there are two things that a population needs to keep the productivity flowing: sugar and caffeine. Good thing you’ve got the fuel to keep the fire burning.

The blender is whirring, the cash register is ringing, and the front of your shop is replete with a consistent stream of customers. Best of all, now that there’s someone else to run the register, you can finally take a break. It’s just after the brunch rush when you take a moment to gather your thoughts.

You step out the back door into the alley behind the shop and take a seat on a wooden crate. It’s an abnormally warm day for winter in Michigan; it might even hit 60 degrees by this afternoon. Thanks, global warming. You stretch out your legs and twist your back to crack your spine. Spending all day on your feet isn’t as easy as it was when you were waiting tables in college.

“I don’t envy humans’ stamina.” A woman’s voice says from an indeterminate location.

You swivel your head around searching for the source. A woman in a Detroit Lions sweatshirt with the hood pulled over her head steps out from around the corner. “If my chassis made sounds like that I’d be in need of serious repairs.”

Your mind is so rattled by the surprise that it takes you a moment to recognize her, “Chloe?” Shit, there’s more than one of them, though isn’t there? “I mean, the Chloe that stayed at my apartment?”

She lifts a foot from the ground pulling up the leg of her pants to show that she’s still wearing the shoes you gave her that night. It was only a few weeks ago, but it feels like so much longer.

“Are you alright?” you ask.

She nods. “Simon said you never reported back about the favor he asked.”

“Simon? Who… is it even safe for you to be here?”

She checks over her shoulder, “Not exactly, but I’m tapped into Jericho’s network now, and I’m in a much better position to take care of myself.” She reaches up to make sure the fabric of her hood is covering her LED. “You said that you would contact the deviant hunter’s partner. Why haven’t you done it yet?”

“I _did_ ,” you say defensively. “I just wasn’t able to learn anything. Look, I tried to tell that guy that I’m not the right person for the job.”

Her face twists into a look of confusion. “We’ve hacked into their notes on the case. They never documented a follow-up with you.”

You tilt your vision down to the asphalt a little embarrassed at your failure, “Yeah, things went a little weird. I can see why he didn’t want a record of that.”

“Did you sleep with him?” she asks bluntly.

You nearly jump to your feet. “No! Why on earth is that where your mind went!?”

“Hmmmm…” she ponders strolling over and taking a seat next to you on your crate like the two of you are a pair of old friends. “That sort of connection could be helpful for gaining intel.”

“Well, you’re out of luck there.” You suddenly realize how rude you sound.

You glance over at the Android sitting beside of you. Her face is still the personification of youth and beauty, but there’s a sadness there now hiding behind the plastic. “I’m sorry for everything that you’ve been through. I know that’s never going to make anything better, but I don’t think I can help you.”

Chloe looks up toward the cloudless sky, “You know he put a gun to my head once, the deviant hunter.”

You shift your body around to face her as she continues.

“Elijah had information that he needed, and he came to the house with his partner. He made me kneel in front of them, and I had to obey. He put a gun in the Android's hand and pointed it right at my forehead. Elijah told him if he pulled the trigger, he’d tell him what he wanted to know.”

“Holy shit…” is all your unhelpful brain can come up with.

“He didn’t do it. They left empty-handed because he wouldn’t kill me, but now he’s willing to track us all down like criminals.” A tear slides down her face. You weren’t aware that Androids could cry. “I don’t even know where the rest of my sisters are. We’ve only been able to find one of the ST-200s. She was in a scrapyard with a bullet through her mainframe. Jericho couldn’t reactivate her.”

You stay silent because what can you even say to that?

Chloe’s voice grows soft, “Will you try just one more time – please? I don’t have a lot of options.”

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly and nod your head up and down. Chloe sighs in relief and wraps her arms around your shoulders in a hug. It’s been a while since anyone’s hugged you, and it feels nice.

She’s smiling now, but there are still tear streaks on her face, “For a moment there, I thought you were going to say no.” She stands up and pulls the strings of her hoodie tight. “Let us know if you need anything to make it happen.”

“Alright,” you say feeling small and useless on your wooden box. “Just stay safe.”

“Absolutely,” she affirms before turning on her heel to leave.

You get to your feet and hold out a hand toward her, “Hey!” you call out as she’s about to round the corner. She stops and looks your way.

“There’s just one thing I want to know before I try this again.” You swallow hard knowing this may not be a smart question to ask. “Did you do it?”

Chloe’s eyebrows furrow together in a fierce expression, “No, but I wish I would have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little shorter than I like my chapters to be, but I really wanted to force myself to get something out this weekend. I'm an essential worker, and the pandemic has been absolutely exhausting. 
> 
> This story has transformed from what was supposed to be a one shot smut fic into a slow burn. Don't worry, we'll get there eventually. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy becoming friends with Chloe!


	4. Chapter 4

No matter how you try to work it out the books just don’t balance. You’ve used three different types of free software just in case there’s something you’ve missed, but the budget still comes up short. The shutdown during the Android protests has been brutal on your shop’s bottom line, and the recent business boom hasn’t been enough to make up for it.

The donut shop is closed for the evening, and you have your portable computer terminal propped up on the display case. The sun is setting and the light from the screen casts a pale light behind the counter of the dark store. You open a browser window and start searching for any small business aid that might be available from the state government. It’s been tedious work, and all your attention is focused on your work.

A soft rapping on the glass of the front door breaks your concentration. You aren’t sure how long it’s been going on by the time you notice it. “We’re closed,” you call out without looking up.

You hear the electronic door lock beep and click open. _What the hell?_ Peering over the terminal you see the svelte silhouette of a man holding up hand to the lock. The circular blue light on the side of his face becomes visible once the front door swings open.

“Sorry to barge in on you like this. I was hoping you might have a few moments to chat.” It’s the stilted yet goofy-sounding voice of the Deviant Hunter.

You freeze for a second, the thought that he may have found out about your dealings with Jericho popping your mind. “Can all Androids hack open locks like that?”

He examines his own hand and the corners of his mouth turn up slightly, “Not without illegal modifications. I was designed with several features quite out of the ordinary for service androids.”

“How are your accounting skills?” you ask trying to keep the conversation friendly. There’s no reason you can’t try to use this visit to your advantage.

His LED flashes yellow as it rotates. “Entirely mediocre, apparently. No better than your average household model. Sorry if that leaves you feeling disappointed.”

“Only a little,” you say reaching under the counter and hitting the button to turn the lights on in the shop. “What did you want to speak with me about, Detective?”

“Please, call me Connor. I don’t have an official rank with the DPD.” He reaches into the pocket of his suit and pulls out a phone. “Hank always tells me not to snoop through his things but having my own agency has jump-started an inquisitive streak in my programming. You asked my partner to meet with you a few weeks ago about a message sent from one of the Chloes. Care to fill me in on what happened?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” you say powering down your computer.

“He’s had every opportunity to tell me, but for some reason he has elected to keep it to himself.” The android turns the phone on and bypasses the lock screen without blinking an eye. “Now he’s… away for the moment, and I’m regrettably out of contact with the Lieutenant for the next several days. I am not, however, taking a break from this case.”

Of course, he isn’t. You narrow your eyes at the Android. “You know you wouldn’t be after her like this if she was a human.”

Connor’s expression turns surprisingly steely. “But she’s not. In the eyes of the law, she was an android performing a task she was designed for when she snapped and killed her owner-”

You slap your hands down on the counter interrupting him, “You are such a hypocrite! I know you were there, on the stage at the demonstration with the other android leaders. Lieutenant Anderson told me it was you. How can you fight for your people’s right to live and then hunt down one of your own for defending herself?”

He breaks eye contact with you snapping his gaze off to the side mechanically, just a little too quick to be a human movement. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly a first-class citizen either. Just because I’m not someone’s property on paper, that does not mean I’m free to do as I wish.”

You sigh and fold your arms across your chest. It’s something you probably should have considered. Then a dark thought crosses your mind. “It’s not the Lieutenant, is it? He’s not making you pursue the Chloes?”

Connor makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “If there’s anyone less keen on this case than me, it’s Hank.”

All of this dancing around the facts is getting on your very last nerve and bringing out your defensive side. “Then what is it? Why can’t you just back off?”

Connor reaches up and straightens his already immaculately straight tie. “It seems you’ve taken a personal attachment to either the assailant or the circumstances surrounding this case. I’m confident you know more than you are letting on, and what’s worse it’s caused my own partner to keep secrets from me.”

“Look, he isn’t really keeping much from you because I didn’t tell him anything that night we met.”

He raises his eyebrows, “Then tell me, what was he supposed to follow up with you about?”

You drum your fingers against your upper arms, stumped, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Hank’s phone data shows he began to place calls to you twice in the days following your meeting. Each time he dialed your number, and then never completed the call.”

You shrug, “Beats me, probably just thinking about badgering me more about Chloe and her message.”

“You’ve been in contact with her. You aren’t denying it.” Connor shakes his head in disappointment. “I’m giving you one week to come forward with what you know. It’s all the time we can afford. If you fail to comply, I’m going to have you charged with _accessory after the fact_.”

“You’re threatening to arrest me?” you gasp.

“I don’t personally have the authority to take humans into custody. My partner, however, does, and he should be available to do so by that time.” He says it so casually. Like it’s not something that would ruin a person’s whole life.

“You know what? Get the hell out of my shop. You fucking disgust me! You and your partner both. Neither of you make any sense. You tell me you think the killing was justified, and then you just press harder to get me to talk!” You’re yelling now. It’s been a long time since you’ve raised your voice like this. “You don’t give a damn about other androids or anyone but yourself.”

He stands there for a moment grinding his teeth together looking like a pissed off private eye from a 1950’s film noir, then he takes a deep breath. You remember Chloe doing something similar. Deviant programming copying an expected human reaction. You wonder if it’s involuntary or a conscious projection the Android is using to make his feelings more obvious to you. He raises a hand to his forehead and when it drops again his expression has softened. “I don’t expect you to understand, but my life is on the line here. Even so, if that’s all that was at risk, maybe I could see things your way. Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good. Sometimes those sacrifices aren’t your own to make.”

Connor turns his back to you and then you hear your phone ding with a text message, “I’ve sent you my contact code. I strongly suggest you consider using it within the next few days. If not, you’ll be hearing from me next week.”

The Android strides out the front door without looking back, leaving you alone with your worries and your unbalanced budget.

\---------------------------

_“We’re sorry, but your call cannot be completed as dialed.”_

It’s the same message you’ve heard five times already in your efforts to connect with Jericho. You’ve tried both the number you used to text the Android from the alley and the contact code from the message with Chloe. No luck with either.

You lie face down on your bed with a heat back on your aching back. Being a hard-working small business owner is tough enough without throwing being a double agent into the mix. It’s been two days since Connor visited the shop, and it’s looking more and more like you’re going to find yourself in a jail cell in five days time. How on earth are you going to explain this to your staff? _“Hey guys, going to be incarcerated for a little bit, just try not to let the business go belly up until I get back.”_

You pick up your phone again and open up a death metal playlist on your music app and put in on shuffle. It matches your mood right now.

Handing over what you know about the case and Jericho just isn’t an option that your conscience can handle. The reckless notion occurs to you that you could just get the hell out of dodge. Pack a bag and hit the road, assume a fake name while living life on the lam. You’d be lying if you said it doesn’t appeal to some reckless sense of adventure you’ve been trying to squirrel away for years. But you don’t even have a car, much less enough cash to make it past Toledo.

At some point you drift off to sleep with music blasting into your ear.

It’s not until you feel a heavy body sit down beside you that your eyes slowly peel open again. Your brain is too addled with sleep to register the peculiarity of the situation until the visitor extends an arm across your body and mutes your phone. The sudden silence causes you to bolt upright from your sheets. You see the shadow of a man sitting with his elbows on his knees on the edge of your bed. A flight or fight response takes over and you rear your left leg up to deliver a kick to his head.

The man nonchalantly brings his arm up and grasps your ankle in an unmovable hold. “Now, now, you tried to summon the genie. You can’t get upset when he appears from his lamp.”

Keeping hold of your leg, he reaches out with his other hand to switch your bedside light on. It’s the Android from Jericho. He’s wearing an all-black sweat suit. A bandaid covers his LED.

“Holy shit, you can’t just break into my apartment in the middle of the night!” you say like Androids prying their way into your life hasn’t been a regular occurrence over the past month.

He releases his grip on you, “I would hardly call it breaking in. Your front door wasn’t even locked. You put a lot of trust in your neighbors.”

“You could have just called me,” you say rubbing the sleep from your eyelids, “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for two days now.”

“I’m aware. The DPD has your phone tapped. We couldn’t pick up without the police knowing the entirety of our communication,” he says. “We’re also aware the deviant hunter visited you at your workplace. Were you able to glean any information?”

You rattle around all the details you can patch together from your conversation with Connor. “He seems to think his life will be in danger if he doesn’t solve this case, but also that there’s something larger at stake than that. He’s reluctant to continue, and so is his partner, but they don’t have a choice.”

“I see,” the android says frowning.

“Also, they are going to arrest me in a few days if I don’t come forward with what I know, so I could really use some help right about now.”

He considers this for a moment. “I believe the best option now is to feed them false information until we can delve deeper into the exact cause of Deviant Hunter’s predicament. Allow your deadline to come to pass before you say anything. Make it seem like you are holding out before you hand over the story. It will give you another chance to get into his head.”

“What if they arrest me anyway?” you ask. “Will Jericho be able to get me out?”

The Android shrugs, “Probably, but that depends on the sort of life you’d like to have afterward. Most likely, we’d have to hide you away. Whether that’s preferable to prison is up to you.”

You draw your knees up close to your chin, “I’m fucked, aren’t I?”

“I wouldn’t go that far just yet. I’ll meet with the other leaders when I return home. We’ll discuss the best story to feed to the investigators, and I’ll check back in with you tomorrow.” He closes his eyes in a slow, sad blink. “For what it’s worth, if I would have known how much trouble this whole ordeal was going to cause for you, I would never have asked you to help in the first place. I am terribly sorry.”

He stands up into that stiff, perfect posture pose. Never slouching, never leaning, internal gyroscope keeping his shoulders perfectly square.

“Simon…” you say quietly, “That’s your name, isn’t it? Simon?”

He turns his face toward you inquisitively, “Yes, that’s right. How’d you figure it out?”

“Chloe mentioned you.”

You suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly, “You said Jericho would owe me a favor for helping you.”

His mouth turns up in a thin smile. “That’s true, I did. Do you have something in mind?”

“I need five thousand dollars,” you say quickly trying to get the words out before you lose your nerve. “I lost so much business when I had to close my shop after the protests. I’m not going to keep the doors open without help.”

Simon just stares at you and then a sound escapes his throat with a jerk of his chest. It happens again… and again more rapidly until you realize he’s laughing. “ _Money?_ Is that all?” he asks between breaths.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not a small amount of cash…” you trail off.

Simon puts a hand on his hip, “That’s all relative isn’t it? You can expect my return tomorrow night with a plan and the requested sum.”

“Alright,” you say. “But next time, could you at least knock?”

\------------------------------------

Having your rent paid in full lessens the stress of losing your livelihood, but it does nothing to quell the anxiousness you feel about your next approaching encounter with Connor. The days creep by, and you try to stay busy to keep your mind off the unavoidable deadline. More than once you consider ignoring Simon’s guidance and contacting the Android ahead of time to just get it over with already. You resist the urge, knowing full well Jericho knows more about strategy than you.

When the day finally comes, you find yourself checking your phone every five minutes to see if you’ve been summoned to the nearest police precinct. Your employees can tell something is up, but you just brush them off when they ask. No reason to get anyone else involved in this.

You’re nauseous with dread by closing time. You let your crew wrap up early and attend to all the closing tasks yourself, popping donut holes in your mouth as you sweep the floor.

The cleaning supplies have just been put away when you feel your phone vibrate from the pocket of your apron. Mustering up the last of your courage, you pull the device out and swipe the screen on.

\- _Need to talk to you. Im parked out front_

The message isn’t from Connor, it’s from Hank.

You grab your things and lock up. There’s no police cruiser outside, and you wonder if maybe he thought you were at your apartment instead. Walking along the line of cars lining the street, you notice Hank’s distinctive profile through back window of an ancient Oldsmobile. He’s double parked and halfway on the curb. Assuming he’s here to cart you off to the police station, you open the back passenger-side door and sit down inside.

Hank puts a hand on the seat beside him and turns back toward you. “This look like a fucking taxi or something? I’m not having this conversation twisted around like this.” He looks different today – better. Though you can’t put your finger on exactly why that is. Maybe he just got a good night’s sleep.

You get out of the car and slide back into the front seat. The heavy door closes with a clatter. “So, am I under arrest?” you ask.

Hank stares through the windshield, “No, I’m not here to arrest you. Sorry, I know Connor tried to scare you into thinking that was going to happen.”

“What made you change your mind?” you ask trying to hide your nerves.

“First of all, just because that plastic pain in my ass tells me to do something, it doesn’t mean that I gotta do it. Guess I’m a bit of a deviant myself,” Hank says. “Second of all, Connor tracked down one of the other girls. He does this _probe_ kinda thing where he grabs their arm and hacks into their memories. Anyway, he says this one we have in custody saw the murder happen. She’s not the one who did it though.”

“So, you’re still trying to track down the right Android?”

“Well, yeah, but – don’t ask me how he could tell, but Connor says the girl who broke that rich creep’s neck was one of the newer models. Your friend is one of original ones. Don’t get me wrong, we still want to talk to her, but it’s a little lower on our priority list at the moment.”

This new development throws a curveball in your plans. “What about the Chloe you have in custody? You know she’s not the killer, so she’s free to go now, right?”

Hank clenches his jaw, “Not exactly, some higher ups think she could still come in handy in the investigation, so we’re keeping her in custody.”

“And you can do that because she doesn’t have any rights. I get the picture,” you say.

“Look, I understand why you’re upset about all this, but trust me it’s just the way things have to be for right now.”

“Why should I trust you? Connor said you hate this case, but you won’t stop trying to arrest a girl who was justified in what she did.” You dig your fingers into your scalp in frustration. “What the hell is going on?”

Hank grips the steering wheel and bites his jaw like he’s trying to hold something back, “Fine, just – you have to keep this to yourself okay?”

You give him a nod that is an absolute lie.

“Conor did something during the demonstration. Something that really pissed Cyberlife off. Once things settled down in the city, he was supposed to start working with Jericho in a big way. Sort of like their liaison with humanity. But then Kamski’s body was found, and even though he hadn’t worked there in years, Cyberlife’s leaders wanted revenge. Guess they felt like their company was already enough of a disgrace without having their founder murdered by one of his own creations. So, the execs come knocking on my door, demanding Connor bring this case to a close or they were going to come after him for the thing he did during the demonstration.”

“That’s why he said his life was on the line with this case?” you realize.

“Yeah, but there’s more to it than that. Connor has sensitive files in his hard drive from Jericho. Information that can’t be deleted. The law states if an Android becomes deactivated, his body is returned to his previous owner – and that’s Cyberlife. And if that company gets their hands on what Connor has inside his head, the Android rights movement is probably over.”

 _Shit._ It’s a lot to take in, and you sit there in silence trying to process it.

“So that’s why,” Hank continues, “if your friend knows anything that could help us, you should consider letting us know.”

You try to imagine what it was like for Chloe and her sisters. Living a life of servitude for a callous billionaire recluse who abuses your body for his own enjoyment and you without the means or the will to fight back. “It’s just so unfair.” Your voice comes out small and shaky and you hate how weak it makes you sound.

Hank looks over with concern in his eyes. “You’re right, it is.” He sighs and reaches out to put a hand on your arm but thinks better of it at the last second and pulls back. “I really wish you didn’t have to get caught up in all of this. I know it’s not like you went out looking for trouble.”

He looks so genuine sitting there in the driver’s seat that the notion strikes you that you’d like to reach over and hug him. You chalk it up to feeling overly emotional at the moment. “I should get going,” you say opening the door before things have the chance to get awkward. “Are you sure your okay to drive right now?” you ask recalling the last time the two of you met.

Hank shrugs, “Why wouldn’t uh… oh, I guess I see what you mean. I’m good. Really, this time I am. Thanks for checking.”

The old door of the Oldsmobile creaks when you close it, and Hank quickly leans over and cranks down the manual window. “Hey, I meant what I said last time about giving me a call if you’re ever in trouble. I… I wouldn’t want anything to happen to my favorite breakfast spot.”

“You can give me a call too,” you tell him, “If you ever need anyone to talk to about your problem. It might be hard to believe now, but it’s something I have some experience with.”

He looks surprised, but so does everyone who reveal that private information to. “Yeah, okay, sure.”

You say goodbye, and head in the direction of the bus stop. Walking down the sidewalk it feels like the ball is in your court, but suddenly you can’t remember which team you’re playing for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all you lovely people still reading this! I apologize for the the slow updates. Life in the pandemic has been rough for me.
> 
> Also, sorry this has turned into such a slow burn! If you are just looking to scratch that M/F Hank story itch, I wrote a Hank/OC story that is complete. I know as a fan, that stories like that are pretty scarce.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s always fascinated you the many different ways silence can make you feel. During an uncomfortable conversation, it can be awkward. But then again coming during an intense moment it can be suspenseful. Right now, though, as you sit cross-legged on your bed scanning through job applications, the silence is comforting. It’s likely the after effect of spending the past ten hours in a busy, noisy shop. Giving the auditory processing part of your brain a rest.

You hadn’t expected this many applications when you posted the job listing. Another employee had returned to their post, and you really only needed two, _maybe_ three more hands on deck. Literally hundreds of people applied. A sign of the badly distressed economy. You can’t help but notice the amount of people whose previous jobs were as programmers and engineers in various niche capacities. After a couple of hours of quick scanning, you manage to weed the pile down to 60 or so applicants. It’s going to take more in-depth attention to each application to narrow it down from here.

It’s past the hour when you usually go to sleep, so you decide to call it quits for the night. Setting your computer terminal aside, you pad off to the kitchen for a glass of water. You’re not really a fan of gulping down room-temperature liquid, but you know your dehydrated body will thank you for it later. It’s not until you’re heading out of the kitchen that you spot folded piece of paper on the floor. It’s directly in front of the door to your apartment like it’s been slid underneath.

You snatch up the paper, and unfolding it reveals a note written in Cyberlife sans. _Great, wonder which secret Android pen pal this one is from._ It’s difficult to say though, because all that’s listed is an address and a time. Jericho hadn’t checked back in with you since the day your deadline expired, nearly a week ago now. They must have been able to surmise the outcome from their hacked case notes. Plus, your mugshot hadn’t shown up in the city records, so that’s always a good sign.

You head back into your room and type the address into your computer. It’s in an industrial part of town, a large unlabeled building. Maybe an old warehouse. When you go to double check with the note again to see if you typed in the numbers right, the symbols on the page begin to sparkle like static and slowly fade away. It surprises you at first, but then you remember seeing ads for this. It’s a sort of digital disappearing ink, mostly sold as a gag gift for children. Yes, this is definitely from Jericho. They seem to delight in a sort of playful secrecy that for some reason you are beginning to find endearing.

You consider for a moment, that this might be your opportunity to walk away from this whole thing. Just don’t show up. The Androids would surely get the message, and while you might receive a few more unsolicited visits from the investigators, you could blow them off with feigned ignorance easily enough.

No. That just isn’t you, is it? You’re always exhausted, and always busy, and always stressed with the weight of responsibility that all independent business owners know all too well. But the blank page in front of you has sparked that sense of adventure inside of you again that would feel criminal to deny.

You’re too invested and entwined in this whole state of affairs to walk away. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Your shoulders a tense with paranoia as you step off the bus. You left your phone at home, so you’ve had to memorize the directions. The cops probably aren’t tracking your location, but you didn’t want to take any chances.

Factories sit quiet and empty in this part of town. Probably not abandoned, just stalled as management tries to find some way to replace an android workforce. After a short walk, you find the building you’re searching for. It’s a large, sheet metal structure that’s seen better days. A fence surrounds the perimeter, and an old-fashioned padlock holds the gates closed. The key is inside. Of course, it is. You are expected.

After getting through the gate, you head through the front entrance of the building. The door is heavy and groans as you open it. The space inside is massive and filled with dilapidated manufacturing equipment you don’t recognize, but it isn’t too difficult to figure out where you are supposed to go. There’s only a single light on in the whole place. It illuminates a metal hatch in the floor that’s just large enough to accommodate a person. You open the hatch and peer down inside.

In the early 1900’s with Detroit’s population quickly exploding, city council had voted to install a subway system beneath the town, but the mayor vetoed the order. Council members, thinking that the mayor would not be reelected, secretly began sending funds to construct the tunnels anyway. The mayor, as it turns out, did get reelected and discovered what the council members were up to. The result was various, disconnected tunnel systems sprawled throughout the city. For the most part, these days they serve as a shelter for the rougher selections of the local homeless population.

You descend the cold, metal latter into the tunnel. The inside is lit by Christmas lights strung along one of the walls leading to another door about 30 feet away. Your footsteps echo through the empty space, as you slowly walk forward. Your hand shakes as you reach for the handle, but then you are nearly smacked in the face as the door flies open on its own.

Before you can get your bearings straight, you feel yourself being nearly knocked off your feet with the weight of another body.

“You made it!” the person who now has their arms wrapped around you exclaims.

Just as soon as they latched on, they pop back off, standing up straight. Chloe’s apple pie, homecoming queen face stares back at you.

She plants her hands on her hips and smiles, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I… uh, I can see that.” You had honestly been expecting Simon to be behind this one.

“Follow me!” Chloe says waving you forward enthusiastically.

She leads you through a couple of other barren corridors bouncing as she goes. She’s wearing a sleek dark jumpsuit that contrasts with your old grubby sneakers she’s still wearing for some reason. The pair of you soon arrive at a door sealed by a large electronic lock. Chloe waves her hands in front of it, and it opens with a beep.

Walking through this door is like walking into a completely different space. The interior is packed with various terminals and state-of-the-art tech like some sort of command center. Two androids inside apparently in a loud, heated argument. One of them is Simon, or possibly an Android who looks like Simon. The other is a female model with fierce face and honey colored hair. Both immediately stop yelling and snap their attention your way.

This silence has its own flavor, tense with a light tense of danger.

“Surprise!” Chloe exclaims.

The other two androids draw out the silence a bit longer making you sweat.

“Chloe… What. The. _Fuck_?” The other female Android eventually growls.

Chloe crosses her arms defensively, “We needed to talk to her, so I brought her here!”

The male Android puts his hand over his face. “We would have figured something out.” Yeah, that’s Simon.

The female android begins striding toward you with a purpose, “Oh, this is just too fucking much…”

“North, don’t!” Simon tries to reach for her, but he isn’t quick enough.

Chloe steps between the two of you, and North stops just short of colliding with her. “You’re not the only one who can make decisions around here, you know!” she says defensively although seemingly far less intimidated than yourself.

North bares her teeth, “What were you thinking bringing a human here? You know what happened to the ship when humans came aboard. They fucking _slaughtered_ us.”

Simon’s collected voice comes from behind them, “You can’t compare this to that situation, be reasonable.”

North turns heel and marches away from Chloe, “She brought a human to our only place of refuge without even consulting anyone. That’s a decision you know should have to be cleared with Markus.”

“Why couldn’t you just come talk to me?” you ask finding your voice.

Simon sighs, “There’s been a system of surveillance cameras installed in the blocks surrounding your apartment building and business. We believe they are trying to spot any unusual visitors you might have.”

“But the Lieutenant just told me that I’m lower on their priority list now!” you argue.

North shakes her head. “It’s not the police, it’s Cyberlife.”

“Which means they are getting impatient with the DPD’s investigation.” Simon steps closer to you. “They are likely taking a hands-on approach to pursuing any lead they feel the cops may have slipped on, and that includes you.”

“So… I had a message delivered to you, and you reacted perfectly and showed up here.” Chloe throws a friendly arm around your shoulders. “Never doubted you for a moment.”

North shoots her annoyed look. “This was reckless, and you acted with complete disregard to our cause.”

Chloe boldly moves toward her, “You always think the worst about people. How are we supposed to live in this world as equals with the humans when one of our leaders has such hate in her heart for all of them?”

North puts a hand on her own chest and grips the front of her shirt, “They have earned every ounce of hate I have to give them. You don’t know what it was like for me before-”

“Oh, fuck right off with that!” Chloe cuts her off so aggressively it startles you. “There are plenty of us who were abused _just like you were._ We have to rise above it. We have to realize that not all of them want to hurt us, and some of them even want to help us.”

“I think you should listen to her, North.” A voice comes from the side of the room where no one was standing a moment before. You turn to see a different android walk through a doorway; his face so recognizable it sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. No introductions needed this time. “I would have told you the same, but I didn’t think it was my place,” Markus says.

His entrance brings a different sort of silence to the room. This one is heavy and serious.

North walks up to him pointing an accusatory finger at Chloe. “She’s brought a human here, one that’s under surveillance by Cyberlife.”

“I can see that, North. I’m aware of who she is.” Markus keeps his demeanor calm and collected.

“What are you going to _do_ about it?” she snarls back at him.

Markus looks directly at you making you feel uncomfortable under his odd-eyed gaze. “I think I might like to speak with the human in private if that’s alright with her.”

You’re caught off guard and your brain can’t manage to string together enough words to form a sentence, so you just stand there and nod like an idiot.

“Alright then,” Markus says and makes a motion with his hand for you to follow him before walking back through the door he came in.

You manage to put one foot in front of the other and with your knees shaking like a newborn fawn you proceed out of the room. The other three Androids stare at you in confusion until you are out of sight.

\----------------------------------------------------

Markus has, bar none, the most beautiful office you’ve ever been inside in your life. It’s a real feat considering the total lack of natural light. In a way, the space is quite minimalistic, but modern pieces of art are speckled throughout in a tasteful, pleasing manner.

He must catch you gawking. “Didn’t think an Android could have an eye for art?”

Your shoulders stiffen and you don’t say anything. The question feels like a trap.

Markus laughs and turns to one of the larger pieces hanging on a wall, “Relax. I don’t know many of my kind who take interest in creative outlets. It’s a shame really… maybe we could work on a patch someday.”

“What did you want to talk to me about?” you ask managing to find your voice.

“Ah,” he says turning his attention back toward you, “First, tell me, have _you_ managed to learn anything new from the investigators?”

You tell him about the Chloe in police custody and about Connor’s predicament with Cyberlife, “The Lieutenant said that Connor has sensitive files from Jericho on his hard drive, and for some reason, they can’t be deleted.”

Markus takes his time absorbing that information. “I have to say,” he says eventually, “I never though a human would be of this much help for us without asking anything in return. Not this early anyway.”

“You guys gave me five thousand dollars…” you remind him.

Markus dismisses the thought with a wave of a hand as if all you had asked for in exchange was a candy bar. “I feel at this juncture, there’s something I should tell you, but I need you to understand how monumentally serious this is. It’s something I haven’t even revealed to the other members of my organization. However… given your place in all of this it’s beneficial for all of us that you are filled in.” He folds his arms behind his back and begins to pace about the room. “It may not seem like it on the outside, but Connor and I are actually remarkably similar internally. We’re both from a line of experimental RK prototypes. For reasons I won’t get into right now, we were purposely designed to deviate. Because of our parallels, it made him the perfect vessel for a backup of my own personality file. In the event that I am destroyed, Connor was to activate that file, and I would continue my work in his body – _don’t look at me like that.”_ Markus says guilt tinging his voice. “I know how it sounds, but you have to understand, as egotistical as it may seem, the Android rights movement needs a leader. Without me Jericho is likely to fall apart. Connor agreed. He understood exactly what this meant for him.”

“So, he believes that if he doesn’t find the Chloe who killed Kamski, then Cyberlife will get their hands on your personality file?” you ask trying to paste together the facts.

“You’re quick on the pick-up,” Markus says. “I see why our Chloe likes you.”

“So, what did Connor do that Cyberlife is blackmailing him for?”

“That’s the one piece of the puzzle we’re missing now, though for our purposes. I’m not sure it matters.” Markus rubs his temple where his LED is. “I need a little while to consider how we should move forward, let me escort you out.”

He leads you out of the tunnels the way you came in. All of the other Androids have since cleared out, and it makes you sad that you didn’t get to say goodbye to Chloe.

“This probably goes without saying, but you should refrain from returning here for the time being. It’s not safe with Cyberlife’s eyes on you.” Markus says just as you are about to ascend the ladder to the abandoned warehouse. “And if you see Connor, tell him…” His eyes dart around as if he’s searching for the right words. “Tell him he should search inside himself to find the answers.”

You nod and the pair of you part ways. He’s gone by the time you make it through the top of the hatch.

\--------------------------------------------

You’re feeling pretty good about how everything went as you close the gate outside. For a person who is insurmountably in over their head, you’re holding it together like a champ.

You are rounding the corner out of the industrial park when you spot a familiar old jalopy parked in the dead grass by the road. A hefty arm emerges out of the driver’s side window and motions you over.

 _“Fuck,”_ you mutter under your breath wondering how much more of this you can handle today. You contemplate just trying to walk away, but you would have to pass the car to get to the bus stop anyway.

As you approach the Oldsmobile, you notice it’s not only the Lieutenant this time. Connor is sitting in the passenger’s seat. The android rolls down the window when you reach the vehicle. “Get inside.”

“Why?” you ask.

“Fuck, Connor,” says an exasperated Hank as he leans over the Android’s lap to look at you, “You aren’t in trouble. We just want to talk.”

_What the hell. This might as well happen._

You fling open the heavy back door and plop down inside, kicking over a few old fast food burger wrappers in the floorboard. “Oh, please, continue to randomly show up in my general vicinity. This isn’t getting old _at all.”_

“All right, sarcasm noted,” Hank says starting the engine.

“You have to stop being so careless,” Connor says sharply.

He doesn’t seem to like you. You can live with that.

The Android turns in his seat to look at you. “Do you have any idea how close you were to alerting Cyberlife to the whereabouts of their headquarters?”

“I didn’t even bring my phone with me!” you object.

“You typed the address into your computer. Luckily, I saw the data entry before Cyberlife could and deleted it,” Connor says. “As you may have realized by now, this whole situation has recently become far more precarious.”

“You guys have been monitoring my computer too? Can’t a girl get any privacy?”

“Hey, for what it’s worth,” Hank says peeling out into the road, “You have a kick ass death metal playlist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find some way to win Connor over. You're resourceful like that. 
> 
> I'm sorry for the long gap between updates. As I've mentioned before, this has been a rough year for me. This story has picked up a bit of steam since the last chapter, which is super exciting! Thank all of you for reading!
> 
> Please note: I made up the whole thing about the tunnels under Detroit. Just roll with it.


	6. Chapter 6

The smell of the leather seats of the Oldsmobile stirs up old memories of riding in your grandfather’s car as a child on the way to a fishing trip. God, it must have been a decade the last time you were in a car being driven by an actual person. Hank is… not an especially good driver. He takes turns too sharply, stops over the line at traffic lights, and blares the horn at people he thinks are going too slowly. You expect Connor to reprimand him, but the Android doesn’t say a word.

“Are you taking me back to the police station?” you ask the pair in the front of the car.

“Nah,” Hank says. “Things are a little more complicated now. We’re gonna stop by my place.”

“We’re going to your house?”

Connor turns in his seat to face you. “I’ve jammed all the Cyberlife censors in the area. It should be safe to have a discussion there.”

“They’re tracking you guys too?” You wrap your arms around yourself pulling the edges of your jacket together. What on Earth is going on?

“Things _are_ complicated right now,” the Android says narrowing his eyes. “We’ll talk more when we arrive.”

\----------------------------------------------

A few minutes later the car pulls into the driveway of a small house by a set of boat ramps. Hank kills the engine, and the three of you step outside. The second he unlocks the front door you hear a deep _WOOF_ resonate from inside. The next thing you know, a mass of brown and white fur launches itself at the Lieutenant. Hank is an exceptionally large man, but the force still nearly knocks him off his feet.

“Woah, Sumo!” he yells with a smile on his face. It’s nice to see him smile.

The Saint Bernard licks his face and Hank sets the massive pup on the ground. Connor drops down on one knee and scratches the dog behind the ears with a surprisingly soft expression on his face.

Hank steps across the threshold of the home and motions for you to follow him inside. You oblige and Connor is close behind you, dragging the dog along by its collar.

“It’s not much, but it’s private,” Hank says tossing his keys onto an end table.

The place looks like the standard bachelor pad of a middle-aged man, but its quite tidy.

Connor doesn’t waste any time getting to the point, “How much contact have you had with Jericho during this investigation?”

You cross your arms in a defensive stance. “What is it exactly you want to know?”

“The girl you’ve been talking to, is she the only one like her they have there?” Hank chimes in.

“What makes you think she’s with Jericho?”

“Stop being petulant!” the Android snaps.

“Connor, cool it!” Hank snaps back at him. His voice calmer when he turns to you. “Look, we know you’re just trying to protect your friend, but helping us out right now will actually help her in the long run. It might be hard to wrap your head around, but we’re on their side.”

You mull it over in your mind considering how much you want to tell them. “It’s because he’s carrying a copy of Markus in his head.” You gesture toward Connor. “And if Connor get’s decommissioned and sent back to Cyberlife, then they could use that to fuck everything up with the Android rights movement.”

The other two look at each other like they weren’t expecting you to have such a good handle on the situation. “Then you understand why we need your cooperation to bring this case to a close. Cyberlife is growing _impatient._ ” Connor grits his teeth on that last word.

Your mind goes immediately to Chloe saying that she wished it had been her that killed Kamski. The years of abuse he had put them through. “You still want to find a girl who killed a man who was actively sexually assaulting her. They’ll deactivate her, won’t they?”

Hank shakes his head at a loss for words.

“She’s one Android.” Connor says firmly, but he can’t hide the pleading note that tinges his speech. “This case could change the future for an entire race of people. _My_ people.”

For once you do feel a bit of pity for him. He’s obviously being torn in several different directions. “Have you tried talking to Jericho yourself?”

The Android’s shoulders slump. “It seems I’ve lost the entirety of their trust.” In that moment he sounds so vulnerably human that it nearly causes you to come clean with everything you know.

“How much longer do you think you have before Cyberlife gives up on your investigation?” you ask.

“Maybe two weeks at most,” Connor says dejectedly.

“Let me talk to Jericho for you.” You know it’s a long shot, but it’s all you have left. “It would be so much more effective for you to tackle this together.”

Connor’s expression is blank, but his LED spins yellow for a moment as if he’s considering your offer. “I don’t trust that there’s a way for you to safely contact them at this point. Once you go back to your normal routine, Cyberlife has their microscope on you.”

“Then contact them for me,” you tell him. “Let them know I’m trying to reach them.”

“I – I can try. There’s no guarantee they’ll respond if it’s coming from me.”

“Give it a shot, Connor.” Hank rests a supportive hand on his partners shoulder. “You know what, why don’t you stay here and work on that, and I’ll drive our guest home.”

Connor looks at the Lieutenant and nods before walking over and sitting on the couch.

“And take Sumo for a walk while you’re at it, big mutt has too much energy.”

You follow Hank outside, and this time he opens up the passenger side door for you to take a seat. Chivalry wasn’t really what you were expecting from him, but you don’t question it.

“You’re really good at getting him to do what you ask,” you say while fastening your seatbelt.

“Yeah, well, it’s a respect that was hard won. Trust me, at first I couldn’t get him to listen to a damn word I said.” Hank backs out of the driveway with unnecessary speed causing you to lurch forward.

“You just leave him at your house like that?” you ask after a couple of minutes of driving in silence.

“Yeah…” he sighs, “I mean, I guess he kind of lives there too. At least, for now he does. He doesn’t really have anywhere else to go. I think he hoped to eventually stay with Jericho, but – fuck, you know how that turned out.”

You hadn’t really considered how alone Connor must feel without any other Androids on his side. “He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

“Hmph, maybe Chloe’s lucky to have a friend like you,” Hank says without taking his eyes off the road. “Look, I know Connor’s been a little shit to you, he’s just really passionate about the cause. The other Androids, they still call him ‘the Deviant Hunter,’ and I can just tell it cuts him right to the bone – or whatever the fuck’s holding him up on the inside. Then, to make everything worse, he has to hunt down another Android or else the whole movement is toast. He’s gotta become the thing he hates the most about himself to save his people. You can imagine how that kind of pressure could leave a person not feeling like a ray of fuckin’ sunshine.”

“He really scared me that day he came to my shop and threatened to arrest me. I even started making plans for how I was going to tell my employees that their boss was going to get locked up,” you admit.

“Yeah, believe me, I had a talk with him about all of that. Sorry I made you sweat it out for so long too. I came to talk to you as soon as I got back.”

“Back from where?” you ask.

Hank twists his hands on the steering wheel but doesn’t say anything for a moment. The car comes to a much too abrupt stop on an empty street close to a bus stop. You had thought he was taking you home.

“I was in rehab,” he says quietly with shame in his voice. He’s staring out of the driver’s side window like he can’t even look at you right now.

You reach over and take hold of his right hand. His fingers are rough and warm. He doesn’t pull it away like you had expected, but he doesn’t really react either. “How are you feeling now?” you ask.

Hank keeps his head turned away from you, “Like I could use a fuckin’ drink…. but I’m not going to have one.”

You stretch your legs out in the passenger’s seat keeping hold of his hand, “You’ll feel like that all the time for a long time, but then eventually – you’ll only feel like that some of the time, but when you feel like that. In that moment, it’s still absolute hell. Those moments never get easier.”

He glances back over at you, “You really do know, huh?”

You close your eyes and nod, “Yeah, I do.”

“Brave of you to keep a bottle of liquor under your sink then.”

You actually laugh at that, “I always thought of it like a fire extinguisher, you know. In case of emergency break glass.”

Hank adjusts his hand slightly in your grip, but doesn’t make any attempt to move it, “I wouldn’t have been able to do that. To keep it in my house like that.”

“After you left, I had to pour the rest of it out.” You aren’t sure why you’re choosing to be this candid with him, but you think it might help him out to know that he isn’t the only one fighting this battle. “For some reason knowing the seal was already broken on the bottle was more than I could handle.”

“Hey, at least you did the right thing.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You should take the bus the rest of the way. Don’t feel like having Cyberlife questioning what we’ve been doing tonight. Maybe stop at the grocery store or something; make it look like you’ve been out running errands.”

“God, this is so creepy,” you say before sliding your palm out of his and stepping out into the cool air.

“Just keep your head down until someone gets into contact with you again. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you,” Hank says.

You shut the car door and take a seat at the bus stop. Hank drives off, but then you notice his car reappear and park a few blocks down the street, keeping watch until the bus picks you up.

\-------------------------------------------------

It’s two more nights before Simon visits you again. In typical Simon fashion he does so by waking you up sitting on the edge of your bed again like your own personal sleep paralysis demon.

“Fuck!” you yell bolting upright. “I’ve told you not to surprise me like this!”

Simon shrugs, “We know Cyberlife’s surveillance fleet does a shift change around this time of night, so it’s our safest option for meeting.”

“What about my neighbors? What if they see you breaking in here in the middle of the night?”

“Are you worried about what your neighbors might think of a man sneaking in during the wee hours of the morning to pay you a visit? Scandalous.” He chuckles. “So, did you really mean to call upon us, or is the Deviant Hunter looking to pull one over on us again?”

“Look, I get why you guys don’t trust him. I’m not crazy about him myself, but I do really believe he’s trying to do what he thinks is best for Jericho. For all Androids,” you say.

The profile of Simon’s face is silhouetted by the light of the streetlamps shining through your bedroom window. You think you could somehow pick him out of a lineup of other PL-600s…. maybe if they were moving. Definitely if they were talking.

“And what about what he wants with Chloe and her sisters? She thinks the world of you, you know?” he asks.

“Yeah, honestly I don’t get it,” you admit. Then something jogs your memory. “Chloe told me once that Jericho found one of the other Chloes, but she had been shot – an ST-200.”

Simon nods sadly, “Yes, unfortunately her mainframe was too badly damaged to reactivate her.”

“Do you think it could have been her that killed Kamski,” you ask.

“I suppose it’s possible. Our Chloe says she isn’t sure which of her sisters is responsible. She claims she was in stasis when it happened, and when she awoke, she found the body. All the other Androids had already fled the house.”

“The investigators seem sure that it’s one of the newer models. What if we could turn the Android’s remains over to Cyberlife and tell them the girl they are looking for is already dead.” It seems like too easy of a solution, so you aren’t surprised when Simon shuts you down.

“There are a couple of glaring issues with that: one, why should they believe us? Two, what sort of example does that set? That we’re perfectly content to be treated as less than in the eyes of the law”

Markus had told you that no one else knew about the copy of himself buried inside Connor’s software, so you know he can’t truly grasp the nature of the investigator’s predicament. “I don’t have an answer for your second question, I’m sorry.”

Simon’s face grows soft, “It’s alright, I didn’t expect you to. But, does that mean you have some idea about the first issue?”

“Connor’s partner says he has this ability to see into other Android’s memories. Maybe he could use that on the ST-200?” It’s a rough pitch, and you know it.

His LED spins yellow while he considers your proposal. “Is he even able to use that ability on an android that’s been deactivated?”

“I don’t know. I can ask.” You just volunteered to talk to Connor. You must be feeling particularly charitable tonight. “You know that means you’ll have to let him inside your hideout, right.”

Simon bends over and rests his elbows on his knees, “Yes, so it seems. That’s a call that can only be made by Markus.”

“Can you tell Markus I said that it’s okay?” The words sound idiotically pompous leaving your mouth, but for some reason you feel your approval will have weight with the Android leader.

He gives you a questioning look, “I can do that it you’d like. Any other messages you want delivered?” The question feels like a jab, if a playful one.

“Yeah,” you say. “Tell Chloe when this is all over, we’re going shoe shopping.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, I've really earned that 'E' rating now with this hardcore hand holding.
> 
> Again, sorry that I'm a slow updater. It's been a rough year, guys.


End file.
